Star-Crossed
by Love Me Some Walking
Summary: Two high schools, both alike in dignity; Three boys whose hearts are splitting at the seams. A tale of rage and love and rivalry; of teenage lust and stormy, star-crossed dreams.
1. Act 1 Scene 1

**Act 1 | Scene 1**

It wasn't the first time that Benvolio found himself desperately wishing that his friends were there, and it wouldn't be the last. It wasn't just that Samson and Gregory were seniors, or that they were roughly twice his size; Benvolio knew that they went to Capulet. That they _were _Capulet — two hulking, stupid manifestations of the utter disdain everyone who went to school across town bore for the preppy rich kids who had nothing better to do than skip their classes at Montague and go smoke cigarettes down by the bay. "And why shouldn't they hate us?" Benvolio often found himself thinking as he looked around his school. "What are we but a bunch of future failed-romantics, coasting on potential until we hit those high tax brackets and all of the apathy and atrophy that comes with them?"

Benvolio often considered what he himself might be like if his parents had sent him to Capulet. Sure, he liked to think that he'd have nothing against the kids from Montague, just as he failed to harbor the same animosity for Capulet that drove his classmates to occasionally head across town and deface the campus or crash a football game, but who knows? Truth be told, the schools weren't all that different. Both provided their students with a rigorous education. Both valued hard work and self-discipline. Montague may have been an older, respected Catholic school that saw a fair share of its graduates head for the Ivy League, but Capulet was regularly praised as the best public high school in the state — and despite their modest academic achievements, Capulet's student body excelled in athletics, consistently crushing any and all competition while the school's coaches and faculty bred elite teams of future professional athletes. Neither school was a bad choice for any aspiring student, it was true, but Montague and Capulet worked in different ways, their different ideologies and values pushing the town's young, impressionable kids to different places, different points of view. Isn't that always how it goes with rival schools?

Of course, none of this was Abraham's fault. Hell, the kid was just a freshman. Benvolio knew that Abraham probably didn't even understand how Montague worked yet. He knew that Abraham was the last person on whom these two Capulet goons should be taking out their frustration. And he knew that he couldn't just keep walking, or even duck back into 7-11 after having turned the corner to find the boy cornered against the back of the building, one Capulet's elbow pressed squarely into his chest, pinning him to the wall. The other stood close to Abraham, too close, his palm planted against the bricks inches away from the boy's head as he leaned in, whispering something into his victim's ear that Benvolio knew couldn't have been good; at least not if the wicked laugh the two older boys shared as Gregory pulled away was any indication. Benvolio dared to peek his head out a bit further around the corner as the two Capulets grinned and sized the younger boy up. Their stares were like daggers pinning Abraham to the wall. He could not run. All he could do was stand there, sweat and wait for the two Capulets to administer his fate.

"So, what shall it be my young Montague?" Gregory spoke first, spitting the school's name at Abraham's feet. "A boy like you must learn to mind himself. We can't have you bandying about town with a blatant disrespect for anyone you don't find good enough to attend your precious school, you know."

"That's what I hate about these snobs," Samson chimed in. "Think they're better than us. Think they're better than everyone." He took a step towards Abraham, jabbing a thick finger into the boy's chest as if punctuating a thought. "What, just because our school doesn't offer Latin you don't think my friend and I here deserve the right to walk the streets without having to suffer a constant stream of indignities from you and your yuppie buddies?"

When Abraham spoke his words crept out in stutters. "I told you, I was just biting my thumb."

"Bull-SHIT, Montague!" Samson cried before pulling his arm back and sinking his fist into the boy's stomach. Abraham crumpled to the ground, doubling over in pain. Gregory allowed the boy a brief moment to kneel there with the punch before planting his foot against Abraham's side and toppling him over onto his back. Abraham could only look up in fear as the two older boys towered over him. "What do you think?" one asked the other. "Should we break those disrespectful little thumbs of his? Or maybe knock out a few teeth?"

Benvolio could hear them chuckle from around the corner, his own back now pressed to the wall as he steeled himself to do something, anything. If he didn't act now, he knew it would be too late. He knew how rough the Capulets could get, he'd heard the stories of what had happened to the Montagues caught crashing Capulet parties or flirting with their girlfriends; and while some of Benvolio's schoolmates could give as good as they got, he knew that Abraham wasn't one of them. Benvolio had to do something, and he had to do it immediately. "If only I weren't alone," he thought to himself, clenching his eyes shut tight. But he wasn't going to let that stop him, not this time. He couldn't. So he balled his hands into fists and turned the corner.

"Leave him alone!" Benvolio shouted. His voice sounded less impressive than he had hoped it would, but it was enough to get the Capulets' attention. Unfortunately, whatever courage may have driven Benvolio to enter the fray quickly vanished as the Capulets looked towards him, amused smirks quickly replacing their initial looks of surprise. "I've made a huge mistake," he thought to himself as the two older boys turned their backs on Abraham's quivering body and began to advance towards him.

"Well, well, well," Gregory intoned with mock-surprise, "What do we have here? Another Montague? Lemme guess," he added with a snicker, nodding over his shoulder to Abraham, "here to save your boyfriend?"

"Why don't you two just fuck off?" Benvolio responded, his hands still clenched in nervous fists. He hoped they couldn't see his arms shaking. Maybe if he played it cool he could talk his way out of this. "The kid's just a freshmen; whatever he did, he didn't mean anything by it. And besides, this isn't your turf." He tried to speak with more assurance now, channeling every last bit of courage that didn't vacate his body the moment the two Capulets turned to face him. "I've got four friends inside, too, you know," the boy lied. "Four Montagues who I'm sure would jump at the opportunity to remind a couple of Capels like yourself whose side of town is whose. Why don't you just get out of here before it comes to that, though?" Samson and Gregory eyed each other, suddenly unsure. Benvolio was almost starting to feel like he could pull this off.

When suddenly a voice spoke from behind him. "Four Montagues, you say?" Spooked, Benvolio whipped around to find himself face to face with a third Capulet, a cigarette dangling from between his teeth. He struck a match and lit it, taking a long drag before letting the smoke escape from his mouth with a laugh. "Funny, I didn't see anyone in there. Your friends must have left without you." He dropped the match to the ground, crushing and grinding it into the pavement beneath his heel. "Or maybe they just don't teach you not to tell lies at that preppy school of yours." The boy was as thin as a rail, and looked to be about Benvolio's age, probably a junior as well. He brought his cigarette back to his lips and tossed his hair out of his eyes, hair the same oaky brown color as Benvolio's own. But whereas Benvolio's eyes were brown as well, this boy's were the color of a frozen pond, an icy blue the gaze of which the Montague couldn't meet. He averted his stare, turning his head half towards the wall before feeling something sharp prick up against his cheek.

"Up up up," the Capulet tutted, tapping what Benvolio quickly and fearfully recognized as a long switch-blade against the Montague's face. "Turn thee, Benvolio… and look upon thy death." The Montague fought to prevent a tremor of fear from wracking his body. His eyes darted quickly, first to the blade at his cheek and then back to the boy, whose lips now curled in a grin that could only belong to the Prince of Cats himself. Benvolio had heard of Tybalt; there were few boys at Montague who had not. The captain of Capulet's illustrious fencing team, it was rumored that he was never without a blade, that his parents had given him an actual rapier for his sixteenth birthday; a weapon from which more than one Montague bore scars to this day.

Benvolio dared not blink. "How do you know my name?" he practically stammered. This was not going as he had planned.

Tybalt smirked down his arm, down the knife still resting just below the boy's left eye. "What is it they say about knowing one's enemy?" he mused, shoulders lifting in a faint shrug. "I'm fairly familiar with the Montague student body, actually. I've certainly seen the insides of enough of them." His teeth cracked into a wicked smile as a low chuckle escaped his throat and Benvolio swallowed hard. His surroundings seemed to vanish around him. The laughter of Samson and Gregory behind him, Abraham still whimpering on the ground… all gone. Nothing remained but Tybalt's cold, icy gaze and the faint sting of the blade that the Capulet had begun to press just slightly harder into his cheek. He felt a drop of blood run down the side of his face before dropping from his chin to splash on the pavement below.

A familiar groan brought Benvolio back to Earth. "Student body puns? Really, Tybalt, your sense of humor's nearly as bad as that insipid nickname of yours." Tybalt's eyes narrowed as Benvolio shot a glance over the Capulet's shoulder, a rush of relief flooding his chest. The moment he saw Mercutio leaning against the corner of the building he knew that he was saved, and that was before he noticed the five other Montague seniors standing alongside him, lighting smokes and popping the cans of soda and energy drinks he assumed they'd just purchased inside. "Better late than never," Benvolio thought to himself. As Tybalt turned his head towards the Montagues, Benvolio seized his opportunity to back away from the Capulet's blade. He wiped the blood from his cheek and turned to shoot a glare at Samson and Gregory, their faces pained with frustration and contempt for how quickly the odds had turned against them. Mercutio pushed himself from the wall before his long legs carried him in strides into the middle of the fray, to stand alongside Benvolio.

"Now let me see if I've got this straight…" he spoke as he moved, nodding towards each Capulet and taking a tally on his fingers. "One, two, three Capulets against, what? Two Montagues? One and a half?" He ducked down to address Abraham, still curled up on the ground, a reluctant spectator with his head hidden under his arms and his eyes still wide with fear. "No offense," Mercutio waved to the boy before turning back to Tybalt. "What happened to your duelist's code of honor, o Prince of Cats? Is this what a man such as Tybalt would christen a fair fight?"

Tybalt scowled in reply. "I count seven of you now. Is that what a Montague would call a fair fight?"

"It isn't," Mercutio replied curtly, the faintest hint of a grin propelling his words. "So why don't you heed the advice my friend here was bright enough to offer earlier and scurry back across town? Don't forget to tuck your tail while you're at it."

Tybalt exchanged glances with Samson and Gregory before slipping his closed blade back into his pocket and crossing the Montagues' path to join them. Benvolio was almost relieved enough to think that it might end there before remembering just which of his friends had come to his rescue. As Tybalt turned to go, Mercutio called after him, "Good kitty!" eliciting a low murmur of laughs from the other Montagues and causing their rivals to pause where they stood, their backs still turned, frozen mid-step.

Before Benviolo knew what was happening, his face was in Tybalt's hand, the Capulet's thumb running over the cut still open on his cheek. Tybalt's gaze shifted from Benvolio to Mercutio, the latter returning the Capulet's glances with an unimpressed but engaged stare. "Patience perforce with willful choler meeting makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting," Tybalt murmured venomously. He pinched Benvolio's cheek to collect another drop of blood before removing his hand. The Capulet studied his thumb as he slowly began to back away. "I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall… now seeming sweet?" here he paused to suck his thumb clean, before narrowing his eyes. "Convert to bitter gall."

And with that the Capulets were gone. Some of the seniors who had arrived with Mercutio picked up Abraham and began to dust the boy off, but Mercutio himself simply reclined back against the wall, stretching his legs out and resting on the heels of his shredded Chuck Taylors as he slipped a cigarette into his mouth and began to fish around his pocket for a light. Benvolio turned to face his friend.

"Why do you always have to do that?" he asked. "They were just going to leave."

"Do what?" Mercutio replied absent-mindedly, finally finding his lighter. He flicked the cigarette to life and took a drag, gesturing towards Benvolio's face with his free hand. "You want a band-aid or something for that?" he exhaled. "Looks kinda nasty."

"I'll be fine," Benvolio replied, wiping his cheek and narrowing his eyes. He decided not to press the issue. After all, Tybalt seemed like the type to hold a grudge even if Mercutio hadn't decided to see him off with one last taste of his uniquely acerbic charm.

"Just lookin' out for ya, kid," the older boy sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and letting his cigarette hang between his lips. He bounced away from the wall and stood on his toes, groaning as he arched his back and stretched every last inch of his impossibly long body. "What say we get out of here?" he said over his shoulder as he began to walk towards the parking lot. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

"What about?" Benvolio asked, following Mercutio to his car.

"About Romeo."


	2. Act 1 Scene 2

**Wow, it actually looks like a few people have taken a look at this story. That's pretty cool considering I didn't really think there'd be too much of an audience for Shakespearian fanfic. Thanks to anyone who left a kind review and apologies that it took me so long to update this thing. On the plus side, I did graduate from university last week, which should probably free up my schedule for more writing. Woof.**

* * *

**Act 1 | Scene 2**

Benvolio sat in the passenger seat of his friend's car, his chin in his palm and his eyes gazing sullenly out the window. The April air was warm, but it was still a bit too chilly to drive around with the windows down; not that Mercutio seemed to mind, his left hand dangling a cigarette outside of the car as his right steered the two boys towards East Verona, a relatively posh suburb that the third of their number called home. They sat silently, the older boy occasionally fiddling with the radio, flipping through the channels until muting the car's stereo in discontent. Benvolio spoke as the car stopped at a red light.

"You didn't think I could've handled myself back there," he murmured, eyes fixed to the crossing signal on the corner, the illuminated silhouette of a hurried pedestrian. Walk. 20. 19. 18. 17.

Mercutio's own gaze remained pointed forwards. "Tybalt would've killed you," he sighed. 16. 15. 14.

"I could've talked my way out of it," Benvolio insisted. "I was actually doing a pretty good job of that before he showed up." 13. 12. 11. 10.

"Before he showed up," Mercutio repeated. "You might've weaseled your way out of a fight with those two goons, but Tybalt isn't one to listen to reason, let alone bullshit."

A gust of wind blew through Mercutio's window, chilling Benvolio and reminding him of the Capulet's icy stare. "He certainly seems… intense," the younger boy conceded. "What's he like? Have you fought him before?" 9. 8. 7.

"Once," Mercutio recalled. "A long time ago. He was a different person, then." 6. 5. 4.

"When?" Benvolio searched, finally turning his head towards the older boy. Mercutio did not return his gaze. 3. 2. 1.

"Back when he was kinda my best friend," he replied, hands gripping the wheel.

Do not cross.

* * *

"Would he have really killed me?" Benvolio asked as he slammed the car door shut behind himself. Having spent the rest of the drive to Romeo's house trying and failing to extract any information about Mercutio's alleged friendship with the Capulet that he could get, the younger boy had finally decided to forego the subject in favor of a topic about which he knew his friend could get excited: combat.

"If you have to ask," Mercutio called over his shoulder, sauntering up the long and winding driveway to their friend's home, "you clearly don't know _what_ Tybalt _is_." At this he paused, looking over his shoulder to flash the younger boy a grin. Benvolio returned the smile, chuckling as Mercutio strayed from the path of the driveway and wandered over to a nearby tree to pick up two stray branches lying at its base.

"Well," Benvolio asked slyly, "What _is _Tybalt?" His answer came in the form of one of Mercutio's branches flying towards him, the older boy in quick pursuit, brandishing the other as a makeshift rapier. Benvolio snatched the branch out of the air before turning it around in his hands to block Mercutio's blow just before it struck him in the face. His arms trembled as he pressed back against Mercutio's branch with his own.

The two boys grinned at each other as their eyes locked between the cross of the sticks. "He's _more _than the Prince of Cats," Mercutio spoke, before withdrawing his branch and taking a step away to pose, the perfect caricature of a fencer. "He is the _Courageous Captain of Compliments!" _he shouted, swinging the branch in another attempt to strike his friend. Benvolio was quick to parry, matching the older boy blow for blow as Mercutio continued to speak between thrusts and swings, his words punctuated by the sharp snaps of the two branches coming together. "He fights as you sing prick-song; keeps time," THWACK, "distance," THWACK, "_and _proportion," THWACK!

Benvolio laughed as he sparred with his friend, his passions rising to meet the older boy's challenge. He began to swing his branch with a greater force, beating back Mercutio's blows before they even came near him. But Mercutio remained calm, taking calculated steps backwards as he swung his stick and raised his voice over the exasperated grunts Benvolio had begun to exert with each feverish swing of his branch. "Tybalt," he continued, "is a duelist. A _duelist_; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause." He took one more quick step back, digging a heel into the earth and tossing his branch between his hands quickly before settling it into his left palm. "He rests his minim rest, before…"

Mercutio's voice trailed off as he launched his attack, directing a flurry of blows in Benvolio's direction. "One! Two!" he shouted, cracking at the younger boy's branch with each word. Benvolio gripped his weapon with both hands, gritting his teeth as he met his friend strike for strike. With a final parry, he managed to knock the older boy's branch from his fist, sending it flying across the lawn. The two boys watched it land on the grass before Benvolio leveled his weapon alongside Mercutio's cheek. Benvolio turned his head to meet his friend's gaze and gloat in victory, only to find the older boy's face lit up with a look of grim satisfaction. While Mercutio's left arm remained outstretched at his side, his hand now empty and open, his right was extended towards Benvolio's chest, clutching a small twig of a dagger pressed right up to the younger boy's heart. "And a third in your bosom," he smirked.

Mercutio drove the twig under Benvolio's left arm as the younger boy choked out a gasp of pain, clutching his chest and falling to the ground in mock-agony. Mercutio began to laugh as his friend writhed around in the grass, as if some cheap imitation of death slowly descended upon him. Finally, he rolled onto his back, arching his spine and releasing one last guttural sound before clenching his eyes and flopping his tongue over one side of his mouth. Mercutio clenched his sides with laughter as Benvolio began to crack up himself, still lying on the ground. But as the older boy looked down at his friend, eyes shut and laughing in the grass below, his smile grew sad. Benvolio opened his eyes to find his older friend extending a hand towards him, a hint of melancholy in his still-shining eyes as he reached down to help him up from the ground.

"What're you gonna do when I'm not around to look after you guys anymore?"

* * *

Mercutio bounded up the steps to the porch of the large house and pummeled the door with a series of resounding knocks. After the door failed to open, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the air.

"Romeo! Romeo!" he called. "Wherefore art though, Romeo!"

Wearily, Benvolio reached around the taller boy to ring the house's doorbell. "I don't think that means what you think it means," he murmured as the chime resounded behind the heavy door before them. The boys stood in silence for several moments before the door eventually opened to reveal Romeo's father, a tall man with graying hair and a black tie hung loosely around his now-unbuttoned shirt collar. His eyes scanned the two boys from toe to tip, betraying only the slightest impression that he was somewhat unimpressed by the two young men who stood before him.

"Boys," he greeted, his vice deep and droll. "I assume you're here for my son."

"Yes sir," Mercutio replied brightly, his tone suddenly sparkling with an artificial schoolboy charm. "We noticed that Romeo hasn't been in school for the past few days and we just wanted to check in to make sure nothing's wrong. Benvolio here even brought Romeo the homework assignment he missed today." The younger boy rolled his eyes.

"Hasn't been going to school, hm," Romeo's father replied slowly. "I'll have to speak with that boy. Come in, I suppose," he sighed, opening the door. "I assume Romeo is in his room.

Romeo's father disappeared down a hallway as the two boys climbed the foyer stairs to the house's second floor, in the direction of their friend's room. They arrived to find the door closed, locked from the inside, the muffled sound of music just making its way through the hallway's thick walls. Benvolio pressed his ear to the door, listening closely.

"What've we got?" Mercutio asked, his hands on his hips.

Benvolio stepped away from the door. "This is bad, dude," he sighed.

"Like how bad?"

"Like he's-listening-to-the-Cure-bad."

"Oh, _shit_," Mercutio swore, his eyes widening in alarm. Before Benvolio could stop him, the raven-haired boy spun on his heel to dash down the hallway back in the direction of the stairs.

* * *

Romeo's eyes opened, training on the ceiling fan rotating slowly overhead, pushing the stale, warm air of his room from corner to corner. He shifted around on top of his bed, turning to face the window only to find that the sun was beginning to set. How long had he been asleep? It didn't really matter. He knew when he'd planned to only skip his first few classes that he really wouldn't go into school at all. Again. He watched the April wind rustle the branches of the tall oak tree outside his window, the one he'd used to sneak out of his room after his parents had gone to sleep more times than he could count. He thought about those nights, tried to feel that youthful fire in his heart once more. But he couldn't. He doubted he'd ever feel it again.

He sat up in bed, kicking his bare legs over the side, and ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, still mussed from sleep. What now? Should he sneak downstairs, try to find something to eat in the kitchen? He knew he was hungry, that he hadn't eaten all day, but bumping into one of his parents might lead to a conversation he wasn't prepared to have at the moment — depending on how much attention they'd been paying these last few days. What was tomorrow, Friday? Should he even bother going to school? Maybe a — what would it be? — six day weekend would do him good.

A sharp, distinct knocking brought his attention to the bedroom door. "Shit," he thought, his eyes darting from the door to the carpet, scanning the floor for a pair of pants. His parents must've remembered that they had a son, a son who was occasionally expected to attend high school. His mind raced with ideas and excuses as he shoved his legs into the cleanest jeans he could find. He was just turning down his stereo, dimming the sounds of Robert Smith's heartbroken moans when he took a closer listen to the knocks that were still assaulting his door. Ten of them at a time, in a steady procession; each softer knock followed by one twice as hard. His heart stopped racing as he exhaled in relief. Oh well, he thought to himself, this was a conversation that was bound to happen sooner or later. Running his fingers through his hair one more time, he sighed and unlocked the door, turning the knob to to reveal Benvolio standing on the other side. The boy let out a sheepish "Heyyyy…" before Romeo hurriedly ushered him inside the room, shutting the door and locking it behind them once more.

"Where's Mercutio?" Romeo asked, turning around to face his friend.

Benvolio stood awkwardly in the center of the room. "Got me," he replied. "He _was _here, but I think he bailed when I told him you were listening to the Cure." He gestured towards Romeo's stereo, still filling the room with the faint sound of music. "Which I guess means I'm out a ride home. That is, unless you're willing to venture outside your Fortress of Solitude to give me a lift." Romeo let out a groan as he flopped back down onto his bed. Benvolio began to study the books lined up on the shelf above his friend's desk. "Guess I'm walking," he joked without turning to face the other boy. "Why'd you assume I came with Mercutio, anyways?"

Romeo spoke while still staring up at the ceiling. "It'd be just like him to lead you here to solve the great mystery of why I haven't been around these past few days," he scoffed. "Plus, you're too… I dunno, non-confrontational. You probably would've just waited for me to come back to school and then carry on like I'd never been gone."

Benvolio shoved the book he'd been inspecting back into line with the others. "Hey, I'm plenty confrontational," he replied, turning to take a seat on the desk. Romeo simply snickered back up at the ceiling fan in response. "Listen, I got in a _fight _today, dude."

"Is that where you got the…?" Romeo started, tapping a finger to his cheek in reference to the red line running frown the side of Benvolio's face.

"You should see the other guy," Benvolio huffed.

"Why?" Romeo teased, "Did you actually manage to get a hit in before Mercutio showed up to scare him off for you?"

"Look asshole, I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions here. Why haven't you been in school since Tuesday, huh?"

"I've only missed two days?" Romeo's head perked up. "I could've sworn it was three. I feel like I've been home all week." He rolled over on this bed, away from Benvolio and towards the window. "Sad hours seem long, I suppose."

"Benvolio groaned. "And what sadness, pray tells, lengthens Romeo's hours?"

"No having that, which, having, makes them short."

"What does that even mean, dude," Benvolio replied, removing himself from his perch upon Romeo's desk. His patience growing thin, he began to wonder why he was even there, why Mercutio bothered indulging their friend every time Romeo had one of these tantrums.

Romeo now turned to face his friend. "Love."

"You're in love," Benvolio sighed.

"_Out_," Romeo corrected.

"You're _out _of love?"

"_Out _of her favor, where I am _in _love," Romeo explained, his words hurried by a growing frustration.

"Dude you're loooooosing me," Benvolio groaned, dropping himself down onto Romeo's bed to take a seat near his friend's feet.

Romeo sat up, burring his face into his hands. "It's Rosaline, dude! I don't know what to do about her anymore!"

"What you like Rosaline? That redhead in Mercutio's grade?"

"I've liked her since like the beginning of the year!"

"Really?" Benvolio asked. "Why? She's always seemed like kind of a bitch." Romeo punched Benvolio in the arm, hard. "Ow dude!" Benvolio recoiled. "What the hell!"

"She's not a bitch! She just doesn't take shit from anyone. She's fiery and she has beliefs and she's not afraid to stick up for them."

"You just think she'll be crazy in bed," Benvolio said slyly, rubbing the spot on his harm where he'd been punched.

"It's not gonna happen," Romeo sighed.

"Why not? You ask her out?

"I finally got up the courage to tell her I liked her last week."

"And…?"

"She told me she's… a lesbian," Romeo sighed. The two boys sat in silence on Romeo's bed together before Benvolio started cracking up.

"That's fucking rough, dude," he said between laughs. "Maybe we can drive down to the other side of town this weekend and see if we can find any Capulets crazy enough to chop your dick off or something."

Romeo punched Benvolio's arm again but the boy kept laughing. "This isn't funny, asshole! I can't stop thinking about this girl. I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you _can_ do, dude. I say just give up. I mean yeah it sucks, but frankly I'm not too surprised. I mean it always _seemed _like she hated men and — ow! Quit it!" Romeo was beginning to put a little more strength into the punches he continued to direct towards his friend's arm. Between the Capulets from earlier and now his own best friend, Benvolio was certainly taking a beating today.

"If you're not gonna take this seriously, just go home," Romeo spoke crossly.

"I don't have a _ride_, remem-" Benvolio started before a small noise against the window brought the two boys' attention outside, only to find Mercutio perched in the tree nearby, cupping a collection of small stones in his hand. He waved.

"Ugh," the two boys groaned in unison, before Romeo moved to open the window.

"Thank you!" Mercutio replied brightly, navigating his long limbs through the window and into the room.

"There is a door, you know," Benvolio spoke dryly. "If I recall correctly, you were actually standing outside it with me before you decided to run off."

"Well excuse _me _for not expecting Ro-_punzel _here to welcome us into her tower of isolation," Mercutio replied, straightening out and brushing himself off. Agitated, Romeo threw a pillow at Mercutio, only for the older boy to duck out of the way, leaving the pillow to hit the wall and flop to the ground. "My apologies, princess," he curtsied, I meant no offense."

"Forget it dude," Benvolio told him, "The princess is pouty this evening."

"I seriously need to find better friends," Romeo murmured to himself as he turned to ignore the boys and start making his bed.

"Oh come on! Who could be better than us?" Mercutio asked. "Who else would come all the way over here just to cheer up a buddy who'd rather wallow in his own misery?"

"Yeah well you're not gonna cheer me up, so I'm afraid you're just wasting all of our time."

"Jesus, dude, what's even wrong?" Mercutio flopped himself down on Romeo's freshly made bed, disturbing the order his friend had just restored. "Did somebody die or something?"

"Only the youthful, lusty lover that rests inside our dear friend's heart and soul," Benvolio replied with a chuckle. Romeo shot him a glare and moved in silence to start picking up the clothes that littered his bedroom floor.

"Oh nooooooo," teased Mercutio, shifting himself onto his stomach and propping his chin up with his fists. "Who's the lucky boy this time?"

"Rosaline, that girl in your grade with the red hair," Benvolio replied. "D'you know her?"

"Yeah, of course," Mercutio answered. "She's the one who runs that weird feminist zine out of her garage right? What's the matter," he asked Romeo, "does she think you're like a total chauvinist pig or something?"

"Worse," Romeo grumbled as he attempted to stuff the clothes he'd picked up into his closet. Benvolio snickered.

"Well whatever the reason is, you're missing out," Mercutio looked up at the ceiling wistfully. "I hooked up with her at Jacob Colburn's after-prom party last year and while I don't remember it too distinctly I can tell you that it was an experience not to be forgotten."

Romeo's hands slipped and the clothes he was truing to shove into his closet came cascading out in an avalanche, pooling at his feet. He slowly turned his head to face Mercutio.

"You… what," he asked emotionlessly.

"I hooked up with Rosaline last year. What's wrong," Mercutio winked, "Not interested in your friend's sloppy seconds?"

"You couldn't have hooked up with Rosaline…" Romeo started. Benvolio's eyes were growing wide with amusement.

"And why not!" Mercutio replied slyly. "Just because you two are impervious to my charms doesn't mean that they don't work on the ladies."

"No, jerk-off!" Romeo practically shouted. "You couldn't have hook up with her because she," his voice began to falter," she told me she was a lesbian?"

Finally, Benvolio exploded with laughter. "Which means Mercutio's such a shitty lay that she started playing for the other team!"

"W-what?" Mercutio stammered. "No. No way. No." He regained his composure. "Todd Williams got to second base with her at a party like two weeks ago. And she was dating that other guy, Richard something, I have trig with him, for like the entire summer!"

Romeo sat in the pile of dirty clothes that ow lay at the foot of his closet. "Then why did she tell me that she doesn't like guys?"

"Maybe…" Benvolio started reluctantly, "Maybe she just doesn't like _you_, dude."

Romeo looked up, his expression forlorn. "What's wrong with me?" he asked.

"Nothing!" Mercutio replied, bounding from his friend's bed. "You're perfect. Way to perfect for some stuck-up _wench _who gets her rocks off lying to boys about which way she swings, at least. I'm gonna give that _tart _a piece of my mind next time I catch her in the hallway.""Ugh, please don't," Romeo begged. "That wouldn't solve anything.

"Well what would?" Benvolio asked, leaning against the bedroom door. The three boys stood and sat in silence for a few moments before Mercutio snapped his fingers.

"Another girl," he said. He turned to Benvolio. "Duh! We both know how flighty our friend's fancies typically tend to be. All we need to do is find him another girl."

"There _are _no other girls," Romeo moaned from the floor.

"Yes, there are," Mercutio replied sternly. "There are plenty of them, and they're all going to be at Friar Laurence's big costume party tomorrow night."

"Oh no," groaned Benvolio. "You're not making us go to that."

"Everyone's going to it. What's the problem?"

"Friar Laurence is a creep, dude. I hate that guy."

"Whaaaaat? He's totally chill. And he throws the best parties. Plus, think of Romeo; we gotta get him back out there, playing the field."

"That sounds fucking awful," Romeo interjected, balling his fists into his eyes. "I'm not going."

"You're going if I'm going," Benvolio warned. "I'm not dealing with Mercutio at one of these things by myself."

"And what does _that _mean?" Mercutio asked, offended.

"You know what it means," Benvolio replied.

"Look," Mercutio spoke, trying to get the conversation back on track. "Tomorrow I'll be on my best behavior. We all will. We've gotta keep our eyes on the prize, after all."

"Which would be?" Romeo groaned, looking up.

Mercutio flashed his friend a grin. "To get you laid, dude."


End file.
